Chapter 4
four
. . .
Logan
Fucking idiot. That’s what I am.
I walk back to the station, get in my truck, and grip the steering wheel until my fingers ache. My lips tingle from Sophie’s kiss. Ten years. Ten fucking wasted years for doing what I thought was honorable because she was so young.
I slap the steering wheel once, hard, and drive.
We could’ve been married by now. Had kids. Instead, some asshole criminal is following her because I sent her running all those years ago.
I should’ve taken what she offered at nineteen and never looked back.
I wanted to when she came home after her freshman year of college, no longer a girl but a young woman with generous curves, warm eyes, and a soft smile that made it hard to breathe.
But she was still so young with three more years of school, and she was the Wilde princess.
Jesse, Mason, and Eli made it clear: no one messed with Sophie.
The worst part? I hadn’t even asked them if I could take her on a date. Yeah. Fucking idiot.
I blink and startle. The truck has taken the turn toward the old mine shaft again. This isn’t the first time in the past month. The pull of that place always seems to find me when my mind is heavy.
I’ve always put my feelings in a box with the intention to address the box later, but that no longer works.
It sure as hell won’t work with Sophie, especially now that I know what she tastes like and that she’s in danger.
The memory of her mouth on mine, the way she clutched my shirt, the soft sound she made when I kissed her back… It’s all still burning under my skin.
I pull over at the junction with the ridge road. Cold sweat coats the back of my neck. Sophie has carried this fear alone. She watched a man get shot. She’s been hunted. And I sat on my feelings like a coward.
Never again.
I learned that the hard way after finding Sarah Jenkins. That’s when I made a rule for myself. I’m not waiting for perfect evidence again. If my gut says something is wrong, I move.
I drive home, park, and make it as far as my porch before I stop. I breathe in the cold air as darkness falls around me, the night air sharp with pine and distant woodsmoke. The quiet of the ridge should calm me, but tonight it only makes the weight on my chest feel heavier.
Inside my cabin, I skip dinner. What I need is sleep so I can protect Sophie properly tomorrow. But sleep doesn’t come easy. I lie in the dark staring at the ceiling, replaying every moment from the kiss to the fear in her eyes when she told me her story.
My phone rings. I bolt upright. Sunlight streams through the window. “King.”
“Reeves. I’ve got something.”
I’m on my feet. “Talk.”
“The LLC traces through three shells. Clean paperwork, all dated within the last sixteen months. Whoever set it up knew what they were doing. But the original incorporation paperwork has a notary signature I can match to a 2019 filing in Portland. That filing connects to a known associate of a guy we’ve been trying to build a case on for six years. ”
“Name.”
“Chaz Volkov. Goes by his first name on the streets. He’s careful. Doesn’t carry, doesn’t get close to deals, doesn’t make calls from his own phone. We’ve had three witnesses willing to come forward and two of them died before trial. The third one walked her statement back.”
The air in my kitchen goes still. “And the fourth one is now in Lush Hollow.”
“That’s the working theory.” Reeves exhales. “I’m reading her statement now. She’s the only living witness who can put him at a scene.”
I pull on a clean uniform. “Got a description?”
“Forties. Light build. Black hair. Likes expensive watches and leather jackets. Meticulous. Patient.”
“He’s here. Tracking her.”
“I figured you wouldn’t have called if he wasn’t. I’m putting paper in front of a judge. Witness intimidation, federal obstruction. Warrant should come through in twenty-four to forty-eight hours. Sit on him until then. Don’t approach. Keep a body on Sophie Wilde if you can do it quietly.”
“Copy.”
“He waits people out, King. That’s what makes him dangerous. If he hasn’t moved on her yet, he’s waiting for an opening.”
I hang up, grab my keys, and head straight for Roz’s. On my way, I see the rental car parked two blocks from the diner.
Fuck him.
Sophie is at the back door when I pull up, apron on, hair pinned back. She sees me and comes down the steps. “Did you hear anything?”
I tell her everything. The name. The Portland connection. The associate file. The patience.
She listens, hand on the railing. Steadier than I expected. “Chaz Volkov. Okay.”
“You’re not closing the diner or going back to your apartment alone.
You’ll work your morning shift while Roz and Dani are here.
At one o’clock, I’ll pick you up. We’ll go to your apartment, you’ll pack a bag, and then I’m driving you to my cabin.
You’ll stay there until Reeves has the warrant and Volkov is in custody. Any objections?”
“No.” She doesn’t hesitate.
I expected a fight. Her agreement hits me hard. “Good.”
Her jaw works. “What about Mason, Jesse, and Eli?”
“Your call. I’ll back whichever way you decide. But we should wait until we know more.”
She nods. “Thank you.”
Two words, and I’ll carry them with me like her kiss. “You’re welcome. I’ll be back at one.”
I drive back to the office. Pull up the BOLO system.
Put the Oregon plate in and flag it for sighting only, no stop, do not approach.
Call the county lieutenant I trained with and tell him I’m sitting on a federal warrant request and may need backup on a stop within forty-eight hours.
He says he’ll have two units on standby. I thank him and hang up.
I look at Dale’s mug on the desk, but I don’t pick it up.
At one o’clock, I’m waiting in my truck. The cruiser is too recognizable. We go to her apartment, she packs a bag and grabs a few bartending books, and we’re in and out in twelve minutes. We drive to my cabin in silence.
“It’s bigger than I thought,” she says as we pull up.
“Three bedrooms. Two bathrooms. Jesse and some of the ridge guys helped build it.”
Inside, she walks through the house, then puts her bag in the second bedroom. I carry her books inside and set them on the table.
The doorbell rings.
I gesture Sophie toward the hallway. She moves without question.
I open the door with my off hand, right hand near my holster.
The porch is empty. A manila envelope sits on the welcome mat. No address. No return. Just my name in block letters.
I don’t pick it up. I close the door, pull on gloves from the boot tray, and open the door again. Then I lift the envelope by one corner.
Inside is a color photo. I set it on the kitchen counter.
Sophie takes a look, and her hands shake. “That’s my old bar. Where I worked on Capitol Hill.”
The shot was taken from a corner booth. Sophie behind the marble counter, pouring tequila, laughing with another bartender.
“How long ago?” I ask.
She studies the photo. “Those pendant lights are the newer ones. Installed after the shooting.”
“Sophie?” I ask.
“The police said that the bar was clean. That there was no reason for him to come back to the scene.” She exhales. “But he came back.”
I don’t touch her. Not yet. But I make a silent promise.
Volkov might’ve been one step ahead of her, but he’s not one step ahead of me.